It's For The Greater Good
by The Maze Writer
Summary: "Please Tommy, please." BANG! I woke up with a start, eyes snapping open. I wasn't dead. "What the bloody...?" Newt and Teresa aren't dead. Thomas, Minho, and the others aren't in paradise anymore. "We never escaped, we never were free. It's WICKED, it's always been WICKED." They have all been lied to.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello! This is first try writing a fanfic for the Maze runner. I usually write for The Outsiders. But recently, I figured out that I also have an obsession with this series, so here goes. Please be nice in your comments, and I'm sorry if this story is a little OOC.**

 _"Please Tommy, please. Kill me."_

Newt woke up with a gasp. His eyes snapped open and moved around wildly. He was hanging from a wall. His bare toes brushed the floor. His arms were strapped down by his sides.

"What the hell?" his voice trailed off.

He had an oxygen mask on his face, and tubes and wires in his arms. Machines were everywhere, and he seemed to be wearing what looked like a hospital gown.

When he looked around, he saw all of his friends. Thomas. Minho. Brenda. Teresa. Countless others. They looked the same as him, except their eyes were closed, their heads dropping onto their chests. His breaths began getting shallow as he started to panic. He struggled wildly. It set of an alarm that caused a man to come in.

"Ah, Newton's awake," he raised his hands as if to congratulate him.

"What the bloody hell is going on," asked Newt fiercely, glaring at the man.

"Now, now Newton," But Newt cut him off.

"My name's Newt."

The man smiled.

"Well, Newt, I'm afraid I can't tell you that yet. I don't want you going crazy on me. Let's wait until the others wake up, shall we?"

Again with the no answers! Newt was confused and furious at the same time.

The doctor walked over to the boy's side, and started fiddling with the wires and tubes, checking the machines monitors.

He frowned.

"You're working yourself up Newt. I'm sorry, but we can't allow that."

Newt felt a sharp prick in his arm, and knew immediately he had been drugged. As the darkness started to take him, he managed to get out one last thing.

"I hate you bloody shanks."

 _Flashback (in a dream)_

 _"It's for the greater good," Thomas said, putting a hand on Newt shoulder._

 _"I know Tommy, but that doesn't mean I have to like it," said Newt, frowning unhappily. Doing this would mean they wouldn't be aware of the real world for a few weeks, maybe even a few months._

 _Thomas smiled slightly, and moved on to talk to Teresa._

 _When the team of doctors announced they were ready, Newt felt his heart leap up into his throat. This was it._

 _"This procedure is going to be painless, or at least this part is," the doctor chucked. Nobody joined in._

 _"If you'll just stand by your assigned space, we can get started."_

 _Newt went with everyone else and moved to his spot next to Thomas on one side and Minho on his other. Teresa went to stand on the left side of Thomas, Next to Brenda._

 _They started on the opposite side to Newt and his friends. They placed the tubes in first, one for fluids, one for liquefied food, and one for medicine, drugs or blood so they could be administered quickly if necessary. The Gladers had been told the likelihood of this tube being used was very low. Next they placed a small contraption on the finger of every person so they could monitor heartbeats and reactions. They already had a clip in their brain so the scientists could monitor brainwaves. An oxygen mask was placed over each Gladers face. Next, each Glader was strapped to their assigned spot on the wall. A needle was placed into the medicine IV, and one by one, each Glader slumped and went limp. The next thing he knew, they had moved to Thomas. Newt reached over and squeezed Thomas's arm. Thomas turned and smiled at him._

 _"See you on the flip side," he said through his grin. He turned back to face forward, and the doctor pushed down the plunger on the needle he was holding. Thomas's whole body relaxed, and his head fell against his chest._

 _As the IV needles entered Newt's arm he winced. The heart tracker felt weird on his finger, like it was squeezing the life out of it, which was ironic. The oxygen mask was uncomfortable, it rubbed against his cheeks and made him feel stupid. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, and bit his lip as the drugs entered his bloodstream. Then his whole body fell forward, and darkness started closing in._

 _"You'll be fine Newton," he heard the doctor tell him, before the world disappeared completely._

 _End of flashback_

 **A/N: Thanks for reading till the end! I don't know how long this story is going to be. Please leave me comments!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I saw the Scorch trials on Saturday 3rd. Awesome movie, but it didn't really follow the book. Loved how Newt calls Thomas "Tommy" a lot more, but I know I'm going to cry when Newt dies in the third one. Got this whole story idea from the pictures in the trailer of the scorch trials, of the not so lucky Gladers hanging for the wall with tubes in their head's. But for totally different reasons then in the movie, obviously.**

 **The perspectives change in this story a lot, so sometimes they'll be third person, and sometimes they'll be first, ect. Just to let you know. And thanks for the amazing reviews, favorites, and follows! I love you guys!**

 **Last A/N: Please read and review my other Maze Runner stories, they are good and I'm sad as there aren't very many views or reviews. I have a least three coming soon! Check them out!**

When Newt woke up next, he understood why he was there. He screwed up his face, trying to remember more than just that little snippet of info, but that was it. He sighed heavily.

"What the bloody hell have I got myself into?"

He looked around in shock. Everyone was gone. Straps and wires hung limp from the wall, an eerie silence filling the room.

They were gone. All of them. He was alone.

Or at least, that's what he thought. Until he saw Thomas.

Wait, Tommy? Tommy was there? Sure enough there he was, and were those…tear tracks on his cheeks?" Newt felt his heart stop. Tommy had been awake? The tear tracks were obviously fresh, maybe, twenty minutes ago?

WICKED did this. They were still in the huge mess their life's had become. He had no idea where his other friends were, and Tommy had been crying.

He just stood/hung there, staring blankly at the walls. His brain stopped working. He lost track of time, of his surroundings.

Vaguely he was aware of nurses and doctors coming in and taking the tubes and wires out of his arms. He was taken off the wall and wheeled out of the room in a wheel chair. He stayed limp, didn't put up a fight. He was done. With all of it.

…

(Thomas's POV) (Before Newt woke up)

I woke up with a groan, my head pounding. I was confused. Wasn't I just in paradise?

I was tied to a wall, needles and tubes everywhere. Nobody was there except for me and …. Newt.

Newt? What the shuck?

I struggled against the restraints. Something inside me snapped. That's when the screaming began.

It started off quietly, then got progressively louder until I was screaming myself raw in hysteria. I repeatedly screamed Newts name, trying to get to him, trying to apologize.

Tears poured down my face, world getting blurry as I started hyperventilating. The heart monitor was beeping franticly, trying to keep up with my heart.

Everything was going slow motion, and it didn't really feel like I was in my body.

Nobody came. Newt didn't wake up.

I was left alone screaming, until I passed out from the lack of oxygen.

…

 _"Heart rate rising."_

That was the first thing he heard. Everything was far away and he wanted to die.

 _"Blood pressure and breathing rising."_

A metal box surrounded him, keeping him prisoner.

He kicked and punched it, throwing his weight at it. Nothing worked. He screamed in frustration, and kicked the wall again. WICKED would't let him die. They won't even let him do one shucking thing.

He stopped fighting and went limp.

There's no point trying.

 _"Heart rate lowering."_

No shucking point.

 _"Blood pressure and breathing stabilizing."_

He knew he would be awake any second.

He floated in the warm darkness, waiting.

 _"Get ready guys, he's waking up."_

Gasp! Thomas shot to a sitting position, gasping heavily. Arms pushed him back down and he struggled wildly.

He was on a clean white bed, not hanging from the wall like earlier.

"Calm down A2," a doctor said, but Thomas couldn't see him.

"You need to calm down, we're not going to hurt you."

 _No, no, no, no, I won't let you have me, I'm done, I'm done…_

His breaths started getting shallower and quicker as he started hyperventilating again.

"I need some help here!" The doctor yelled.

Panicked voices were all around him, mixed with profanities.

"Someone get A5!"

Thomas's eyelids fluttered. Finally, he was dying. It was what he wanted.

"Tommy?"

Gentle hands grabbed the sides of his face, forcing him to look at the speaker. The frantic beeping slowed.

"Hey, hey, hey, calm down shank. It'll be okay."

His eyes opened fully.

Thomas grabbed the newcomer's arms.

"D-don't l-leave," he rasped, desperation filling his voice.

"I'm not leaving you, Tommy."

The owner of the voice pulled Thomas into a sitting position, supporting him so he wouldn't fall.

He pressed a glass into Thomas's hands and Thomas took it gratefully, his hands shaking as he put it to his lips.

It was water. Lovely, cool, water.

He gulped it down.

"N-newt?" Thomas asked, tripping over the words as loss and pain ripped through him.

"Yeah, it's me Tommy." There was a smile in the voice as he put his hand in Thomas's and squeezed.

"Y-you're dead." As he said it, tears started rolling down his cheeks.

"Shhhhhhhhh," the voice soothed. "No Tommy, I'm not, I'm right here."

"My friend Newt is dead. I shot him, it was my fault," tears started trickling down Thomas's face.

The voice was pained now, trying to hold back tears of his own.

"I'm so sorry Tommy. I'm so, so sorry," The last part ended in a whisper.

Thomas felt himself being lifted, being cradled in someone's arms.

Newt carried him to another room clean, white room, with bars on each side of the bed to stop him from rolling off.

He felt his eyes dropping from the strain of being awake and trying to understand everything.

He felt himself being set down on the bed, and he closed his eyes, exhausted.

He heard one last thing before he drifted off.

I'm going to spend every day trying to make it up to you."

Then he fell asleep.

 **A/N: So, how was that? Did you like that I used Thomas's POV as well as Newt's? Leave a comment!**

 **Also, I think I want to change my username, because The Outsiders isn't my favorite book anymore. Do you think I should change it? What should the new one be? My favorite book series in The Maze Runner, and I love book, writing, and music. Preferably I don't want a username to do with music though. Ideas?**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: NyanWolf you are a genius! Thank you for giving me that idea for my username! Also thanks to anybody else that gave me an idea. I liked all of them.**

I hated myself. Hated myself for causing Tommy so much pain, hated myself for telling Tommy to pull the trigger. And most of all, I hated myself for not dying. Even though that was selfish, because it would kill Thomas even more if I was dead. It would destroy him.

I had nearly destroyed him.

Tommy is still on the bed I had placed him on an hour ago, seeming exhausted even in sleep.

WICKED had been feeding me memories through the chip in my brain ever since they moved me out of the simulation room. Though everything else was fake the swipe was all too real.

 _My parents were going to die tomorrow. They told me themselves. As soon as they gave me to WICKED, they were going to shoot themselves so they wouldn't have to feel the devastating effects of the flare._

 _It was our last night together. I was about seven, squished between the two of them on my old bed._

 _"Mommy, I'm scared," I cry, hugging her tightly._

 _"I know sweetie, we are too, but it's going to be all right, you are going to do great thing for this world."_

 _"Mommy, will you read to me?" I ask, my voice sounding very young._

 _"It's nearly midnight, but ok."_

 _I ended up crying myself to sleep, with both of my parents beside me._

 _The morning they take me away I scream and cry and struggle against the guards arms as he takes me away._

 _They stand there waving, tears streaming down their faces._

 _I turn my head to look at the building, and just before we enter, I clearly hear two gunshots._

 _I never got over it. I wouldn't talk, eat, or do anything for two solid weeks._

 _Eventually, a kind looking nurse walks into the room, and for the first time in two weeks, I speak._

 _"Read to me?"_

 _The nurse looks at me kindly._

 _"It's nearly midnight, but ok."_

I feel my breathing hitch and I start to rock myself as the flood gates open.

I have lost too much, and I'm not sure I can take it.

…

 **Minho's POV**

The next thing I remember is being wheeled down a hallway on a white bed. They lock me in a foam room. Like the ones they used to put mental people in, until everybody because crazy. They leave quickly, shutting the door behind them. A lock clicks. I'm left alone with nothing except for four walls.

I don't understand it. One second I'm in paradise, looking for Newt, and the next second I'm on a god forsaken bed rolling down a god forsaken hallway.

There are only two conclusions to be taken out of this.

1\. This is a dream, a test by WICKED.

2\. The glade and the scotch was all a dream, a simulation.

I'm not sure which one it is. Either way I've been lied too.

Through a loudspeaker I can't see some guy tells me I've been put in here so they can make sure I'm stable enough for socializing. He said everyone was in a room like mine and that the observation would only last twenty four hours. Despite my hatred and distrust towards WICKED this guy didn't sound like he was lying. He almost sounded…..sympathetic. But that was quite a few hours ago and I have slept since then, so my memory might be playing tricks on me

I want to see Thomas and Newt. I need to see them. We need to talk about this, to figure everything out…

Three hours left.

 **Thomas's POV**

I wake up after the most frightening and most painful dream I've had in a while.

Paradise was gone.

WICKED had me again, and I had no idea how.

There were rows of hanging tubes and wires that had been abandoned in a hurry, and I didn't know why.

My friends were nowhere I could see.

And Newt was… alive, talking to me.

I let out a shaky breath and open my eyes.

I sit up and look around. A blonde head peaks up from the bottom of the bed, where the person is obviously sitting.

The boy looks up, and I let out a yell and back up against the corner.

The boy stands up quickly.

I bring my knees up to my chest. Panic and pain are welling up inside me and I can feel tears prick the corner of my eyes.

The boy approaches slowly, holding out a hand in a consolatory gesture.

"Tommy? Tommy, it's alright, it's just me."

The tears spill over, silently dripping down my cheeks.

Oh no. Does this mean, the dream was true? WICKED has us again?

"Newt?"

"That's right Tommy."

I let out a sob and he comes over to me and gives me a hug.

"I know Tommy, I know."

 **A/N: Oh the feels! Next chapter they are going to start getting some answers! Don't want to give too much away, so I'll leave it at that.**

 **Thank you for all your reviews, they mean so much to me! Please keep them coming, as they are my motivation and your way of showing you liked it. More reviews = faster chapters.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sadness! There has been a lack of reviews for that last chapter! I'm sure why, but please guys, what I had for chapters one and two was awesome. I like to stick to 9-10 reviews per chapter please. I know you can do it! Thanks!**

 **This isn't my best chapter, but it's the kind of chapter that's necessary all the same. I have some great scenes already written for the future! :)**

 **Also, please check out "Nightmare" on my profile page and review! I promise it's worth your while!**

I thought that I'd been through the scariest things possible. But I'm doubting that now. Imagine being able to walk one moment, then being too weak to stand. That's what I'm going through. Tommy too.

This is bullshit.

Tommy is leaning against the wall, his head tilted to look at the ceiling. He looks scared, but at least he's not screaming and looking at me like I should be dead. Which I guess, I should be.

His cheeks are still damp, the aftermath of panic attack.

Are things really that bad now? Are we reduced to shriveled, crying balls of the once brave teenagers we used to be? And the worst news I haven't even mentioned yet.

It's not that we're trapped, it isn't that we are alone, it isn't that we have been crying, it isn't even that we can't walk. It's that Tommy is acting…. different.

And not good different either. Bad different. I can't pin point it yet, it's too soon and we have only been here for a few hours. Bu he's been….anxious. About me. Every few minutes his eyes dart in my direction like he's scared I'm not going to be there the next time he looks. Every time he does I feel like crying. It's my fault he's being like this. Stress is radiating off of him.

I broke Thomas.

Never thought I'd hear those words. Didn't even imagine it before. But it's true. I did this. I feel myself needing Minho more than ever. I can't do this alone. He needs to help me fix my mistakes, fix Thomas. And most of all, he needs to hear the truth.

Thomas yawns. The almost childlike way he's been acting brings out the "Mother" instincts that got me teased back in the glade. It doesn't help that he keeps looking at me like a lost puppy.

I guide him so that he's resting his head on my shoulder. I wrap the blanket around him and stroke his hair gently. I know the program by now. It's the only way he's been getting any sleep the last few hours.

"Don't leave." He whispers.

"Believe me Tommy, even if I bloody could I wouldn't. You're safe ok? I've got you."

He relaxes. As he settles, I let out a quiet sigh.

This is so stupid. I'm not sure what to feel. Angry, because we are alone with no answers, lonely, because we don't know where anyone else is. Sad, because, well, everything that has happened recently. Mostly I just feel tired. All the stress is taking a toll on me.

For a while, I just stay propped against the wall, thinking about what was next. I was worried about Minho. I try to push it away though. I had someone to take care of now, someone who needed me emotionally and physically. Tommy. I wanted him to go back to normal, not to be the scared, thin little boy he had become.

Because of me.

He whimpers in his sleep. I put my hand on his bare arm, trying to scare away the nightmare and comfort him, letting him know I was there. His whimpers die down and I sigh it relief. His face smooths out and he relaxes again. I let my eyes flutter closed.

I would protect him. I had too.

…

Come on! Why aren't they here yet?! I've been waiting forever! Hasn't it been three hours yet?

Every second I'm in here means another second I'm not with Thomas and Newt. Are they together? Are they alright? All I know is that they are not in a room like mine. But where are they?

There's the sound of a heavy door opening. My head whips around.

"Minho?"

"Who are you?"

"I'm your doctor. Before we let you go see your friends, we have to do a check-up."

…

Doctors. So many doctors.

Tommy refused to let go of my arm so he went with me as we (finally) got a check-up by the doctors.

They fitted us with wheelchairs and IV's on wheels.

"I'm loving this place," I mumble sarcastically. "Full of needles, wheelchairs and no answers."

I thought I was being quieter than I actually was.

"They are only temporary, don't worry. Just till you get your strength back."

Yeah, because I totally know how long that's going to take.

I feel like punching this shuck doctor right in his shuck mouth. Immediately, I'm saddened again as this reminds me of Minho. Since when did he rub off on me?, I muse.

"Hey, when are we going to see our friends?" I ask, trying to get the attention of one of the doctors.

"In a minute we're going to bring you both to a common room where you can all socialize."

"And they'll be there?"

"Yes Newton. They'll be there."

What was is it with this bloody doctors calling me Newton? It sounds so stupid. I open my mouth to correct him, but then just close it again. It's not worth it.

Next to me Thomas is nervously twisting and pulling his fingers and biting his lip. His leg is bouncing.

He looks like I feel.

Finally, the nurses come and take us to a wide common room where we find all the Gladers, strapped up in wheelchair and wires like us.

Frankly, we all look ridiculous.

Minho finds us immediately and wheels his way over.

"Where were you guys? Are you ok? What happened?"

"In a hospital room. Fine. A little tired maybe, but fine. Same thing that happened to you I'm guessing." I had to lie a bit. We are no exactly "ok". I'm supposed to be dead. Tommy is acting strangely. As to what happened, he doesn't want to know.

Minho shakes his head in disbelief.

"Got worried to death over you shanks. Where are we? Why can't we walk? Why aren't we in paradise? What-"

"Minho, Minho, stop with the shucking questions. We have them to, but none of us have any buggin' answers so you can stop asking."

Minho smiles wryly.

"Good that."

He looks around and then turns back to us.

"We look like grandmas."

It was such a random thing to say that I started to laugh.

"Seriously bro, look around."

I did, turning around slowly.

Every Glader except for the very lucky ones were in wheelchairs. The "very lucky ones," were the ones that were deemed healthy enough to lean heavily on canes. They all had bags of fluid and drugs hanging from IV poles.

We were too weak to go without the wheelchairs, canes, and medical equipment.

The realization hit me hard. None of us could even _walk_.

What is going on here?

…

Minho noticed how Thomas stuck to Newt like glue, (which was ironic,) and how Newt kept glancing worriedly at him. He had the feeling they weren't telling him something.

He tried to brush it off, tried to tell himself at least they were with him now, but he couldn't fully let it go. He'd have to ask Newt about it later.

Someone coughed loudly at the front of the room, and Minho turned around to look.

An important looking nurse (maybe the head?) stood at the front of the room. She smiled warmly at them, but Minho still didn't trust her. Not with the initials that spelled out WICKED across her chest.

"If you'll all listen here," she started, "I have some information about your predicament you may be interested in. And at the end, I'm taking questions."

 **A/N: Sorry about the lack of info in this chapter .I know I said there was going to be some, and I did think they were going to get some, but then I realized I needed to write another filler for it to flow properly. Next chapter there** ** _is_** **going to be some revelations, as you can see by the end of this chapter.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: So, after a long time, I have finally updated this chapter. That was not because I was bored, or I had lost inspiration, it's just because I have been writing a lot of other content, for future chapters on this story and some new ones.**

 **Please, if you haven't already, read and review my new stories. "I'm sorry Tom", and "Stain".**

"Before I begin, my associates are going to bring around some medicine. This medicine will allow you to walk temporarily while your muscles are strengthening, promoting -"

I stop listening.

Why does WICKED have all this voodoo shit laying around everywhere? Did they raid all the best scientist labs and hospitals to get all this stuff? That's not a drug that would be around most hospitals. Or Any. I may have no memories, but I'm not stupid.

None the less, I swallow my cupful. The liquid is bitter and burns my throat. Almost instantly I start feeling energy seep into my bones.

What the hell is in this?

"Let's begin. So, I'm assuming you know where you are?"

"WICKED." A boy shouts.

"Kind of," admits the nurse. "But this version of WICKED is way different then you remember."

"So it's not evil?" another boy shouts.

"No. For a start, you all volunteered for this experiment."

She waits a second to let it sink in.

"Yes. You all said it was fine to have you're memory's swiped and be put into the simulation."

This time it's me who asks the question.

"Yeah, but this is the part I don't understand. Why did we have the swipe if it was a simulation? Why can we still not remember anything?"

"Memory's don't work like that Mister Newton," she says, staring right at me. "They would have come into the glade with you if we didn't put the swipe in in real life. A fake, simulation swipe would not have done the job. But let me remind you all that you agreed to it. I'm guessing that you all probably had something in your lives that you were happy to forget."

She smiles sadly.

I blink back my shock. All of us, Minho, Tommy, Aris…. We all have something we don't want to remember.

"We could give you back you're memories, but keep in mind, you wanted the swipe for a reason."

She claps her hands.

"Moving on," she says, and consults her notes.

"Any distinguishing features you got in the Maze or the Scorch will still be there. We are not quite sure why, but it seems like your body has adapted and wrapped itself around the idea of your disability's."

"And that means….." Minho presses from beside me.

"If, for example, you had a…. limp. That would stay with you."

Everyone looks at me.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat and stare at the floor.

Minho leans over and whispers.

"How do you feel about keeping your limp?"

I shrug.

"Fine. It's part of me now. I wouldn't fix it even if I had the chance."

"When did you get so philosopher on me?"

"Since I was named after Isaac Newton."

He smirked.

"Good that."

Then Minho straightens and coughs, bringing the attention off of me.

He points to his arm and raises his eyebrows.

The nurse smiles.

"You were always a fitness enthusiast Minho. Those muscles didn't magically disappear during the simulation. Though it will be a while before you get your strength back."

"Which will take…." Minho pressed again.

"A few days to a few weeks. It depends." The nurse moves on.

"Any….. thoughts or impulses to protect, lead, or anything really were your own. They were your real reactions. We didn't control them."

Out of the corner of my eye I can see Minho and Thomas sag.

I rub a hand on my face.

So it was my idea to…. jump off that bloody wall.

Great.

….

"We will help you get changed, wash, and anything else that you need."

All the boy's simultaneously blush, even Minho.

"We can take care of ourselves!" he yells back.

"No you can't. You are much too weak. Anyway, who do you think washed, changed, and took away your bodily waste for the past six months?

Gasps emit around the room. The blushes seem to go deeper red.

Thomas has his face in his hands, trying to hide the red stains on his cheeks.

All the nurses in the room laugh, proud of the reaction they got.

The nurse on the podium smiles but cleared her throat.

"We'll have this discussion later. We have something serious to discuss."

She waits for the groans to calm down. Her face is deadly serious.

"I know how pleased you are that Newt and Teresa are still alive," she pauses.

Thomas's head shoots up. Where is Teresa?

"And I know you want to know where the others are, but I'm afraid we have bad news. Not all of you made it. There were, complications."

Everyone seemed to hold their breath.

"Their names were; Chuck-"

An icy fist punches Thomas in the stomach and he finds himself sitting down hard on the floor.

He shuts his eyes, trying to ignore the pain and tears swelling inside him.

Newt and Minho look down worriedly at him.

"Alby-"everyone inhaled sharply. Alby was a leader and his loss resigned with everybody.

The nurse up front said a few more names, but Thomas doesn't know any of them.

Chuck. Alby _Chuck_.

He hadn't realized until now that he had been holding onto the idea that Chuck was still alive.

The revelation that he wasn't felt like he had lost him all over again.

It hurt like he was being burned with fire from the inside out.

A complication. That's what she said.

He felt a couple of sobs rack his body, and then Newt and Minho were there, their hands on his shoulders.

They were all he had left. He was all they had left.

Just them and Teresa.

 _Teresa._

Thomas didn't know where she was, but at that moment, he didn't care.

Chuck was dead.

…

Everyone who was in the room has filed out. Including the nurses. It's just us.

"Hey Tommy," I say gently, rubbing his shoulder.

He looks up at me, and his eyes are rimmed with red.

"Chuck is dead. A little boy is dead and there's nothing I can do about it."

You're a real downer Tommy," I say, trying to lighten the mood. Thomas doesn't move, doesn't react. His face has hardened into an unreadable mask, and there's a thing in his eyes that is glinting away.

He stands up though, (a bit unsteadily) so that's something.

Then Minho opens his mouth and ruins everything.

"That's how we all feel Thomas, we all have those thoughts. You can't choose who hurts you. You can't choose who you love. But you can't be selfish-"

I close my eyes and sigh. Wrong move.

Thomas's face contorts in anger and pain and he tightens his hand on the counter.

"That's fine for you to say Minho! You weren't the one who saw him like that! You're not the one he begged to kill him! You're not the one who fired the shot, felt the life leave his body, felt him go limp and roll off you. You're not the one Chuck sacrificed himself for. You're not the one who held him while he died. You're not the one Teresa betrayed. You're not the one Teresa then sacrificed herself for, leaving you to wonder if her reasons for betraying you were really that bad and making you regret with every fiber of your being that you didn't forgive her when she asked for forgiveness."

Tears are falling from his face, and I swear I've never seen someone look so sad. Or in that much mental pain. His hand starts fumbling on the table.

Minho has turned to me, accusation in his eyes. He knows that Thomas and I know something he doesn't.

"Who is the "he" Thomas keeps talking about?"

I don't even get the chance to respond.

Thomas is speaking again.

"First Chuck, then Teresa, then Newt" he's muttering to himself.

"Way to throw me under the bus Tommy," I think. If Minho and I weren't so focused on him, I'm sure Minho would have turned around and demanded to be told what he meant.

Thomas is still fumbling around the messy table. His hand finds what it was looking for.

He looks up. "They said I was the strong one, the leader," he scoffs. "I'm just a kid."

It's a knife.

"I never wanted this. For any of us. We've seen too much." His eyes glaze over and he's talking to himself again. "I won't let WICKED have me. "

He backs away from us, clutching the knife. Dread and realization hit me at once, the emotions so strong I feel like I'm about to be pushed over by their invisible force.

"I won't let them hurt me."

He brings the knife to his wrist and presses on it. Instantly, rivers of blood start trickling down him arm. He presses harder.

Without thinking, I tackle Thomas to the ground, trying to still his squirming body. Minho starts wrestling him for the knife.

He's screaming now, there is primal fear in his screams.

He starts trying to scramble out of my grasp to look for other weapons. His flailing limbs are smacking both me and Minho alike. Fear is tearing me apart. Finally, Minho grabs a rolling pin and smacks Thomas on the side of the skull.

His body slumps to the floor, the knife's metal making an audible landing on the ground and it falls from his limp hand.

For a second, we just sit there, gasping. Then I burst into tears. Blood is still pouring from his arm. I rip off the sleeve of my shirt and wrap it around his wrist. I fell my hands shaking violently, my breaths fast and short. I'm chocking on my own sobs.

It's then that I snap.

Pain. Consuming sadness. Guilt.

I curl into a ball and just scream and sob.

I can't hear anything except for my own screams.

I can't see anything but tears.

I can't breathe.

There is only this all-consuming pain that insures I can't stop screaming. It's the worst thing I've ever felt. Worse than when I broke my leg back in the bloody maze.

Only a slit of my eyesight is not compromised by the tears. Everything is slow motion as my brain fails to process anything.

I see nurses and doctors burst in, but I have no idea how they know I am here, they have stretchers. They put Thomas on one, and I see one of them place two fingers on his wrist. A second later they start CPR.

He's dying?

I scream louder. Then I feel hands pulling my arms and legs out of the ball I have made myself into. They pin my limbs to the ground. Another pair of hands grab my head, steading it. Still, the pain, tears, and screaming continue.

People are yelling.

Then there's needles in my arms, a pressure on my finger, and hands everywhere.

My screams cut off sharply as a tube is pushed down my throat. Another needle is being pushed into my neck. Consciousness starts to leave me, but the pain does not. The last thing I see is Minho's tear streaked face, and his hand in mine.

 **A/N: Please don't hate me! I know it just took a very dramatic twist right there, but I was planning something like that. Hope you didn't need tissues for that bit….**

 **Hopefully the beginning of that chapter cleared some things up. If it didn't, you can always ask me and I will get back to you.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I'm freaking back! It took me forever, but I promise it wasn't because I ran out of ideas.**

 **This chapter is going to be especially dramatic. But it IS necessary for the plot. Oh, just you what for the bits I have planned!**

 **UPDATE: Some of you will have realized that I have already made a chapter 10. This is a re-upload, because after I had published it I realized I had forget to put in a LOT of stuff. I've also moving things around to make more sense. I have added at least 2000 words, so I think you guys are going to have to read this chapter again XD**

 **Reviews for this new chapter would be super appreciated!**

It's a battle to open my eyes. My eyelids feel superglued shut. Eventually I do open them though, and look around blearily.

There's IV's in my arms, leading to bags of fluid, blood and another substance I can't make out. The heart monitor is beeping away, revealing my blood pressure and heart rate. The tube I remember vaguely from early is still there, shoving air down my throat. The clear textured tubes protruding from my mouth connect to a huge bag that inflates and deflates in time with my breaths.

And the pain is still there.

Then a pair of eyes catch my attention. Minho's.

"Hey Buddy," he smiles weakly. He looks exhausted and has huge bags under his eyes.

I try to raise my arm, but realize it's pinned down.

"It's ok. You've been in an induced coma. You were literally working yourself up to a heart attack, and they had no choice."

I blink my eyes slowly, trying to covey my questions in actions.

"You've been out for about two days," he says. "Machines have been breathing for you. Everything about your body is being monitored. You're being fed through this," he points to the IV bag that I couldn't figure out what it had in it. .

"They don't think you're going to be up and running anytime soon. You are seriously weak and underweight. They did tons of tests once they had calmed your heart, and found that your organs were starting to shut down. You haven't been taking care of yourself," he gives me a disproving stare.

I couldn't exactly deny it.

" –om" I tried to get out. The tube made normal speech impossible.

"He's alive." Minho grimaces. "But he's not awake. He's even more covered in tubes than you. He's really bad off Newt. Really bad."

I jerk against the restraints, lifting my head up. A burst of agony shoots through my skull, I lose control of my body, and the next thing I know I feel my eyes roll back and my head fall against the pillow and limply rolling to the right.

The last thing I hear is a scream from the room next door.

…

I wake up in a cold sweat, screaming.

Minho is by my side, looking frantic, still shaking me. He sees I'm awake, and stops.

I shut my eyes and try to take a deep breath.

I can't.

Panicking, I open my eyes and look around.

Oh, I'm on a ventilator.

I'm not in control of my own lungs.

Nonetheless, the fear starts to ebb away and I couldn't help feel a little surprised of my reaction.

Confused, I look at Minho. He is squeezing an IV bag with some kind of blue liquid in it.

"Anxiety medicine," he explains. "Better?"

I nod as best I can.

He nods to himself.

I take the time to look around.

I'm in a giant hospital room. Tubes and wires cross my whole body, my arms and legs strapped down.

Shit, I remember now.

Everything comes flooding back and I wince.

Minho's face has become stoic.

"They said your vitals looked good," he says in a monotone. "Honestly, I think that's the only thing about you."

I can't help the snicker that passes through my lips as I think about all the memories of Minho calling me an ugly shank.

Minho doesn't smile. Obviously he doesn't think there's anything to be smiling about.

"He asked about you, so before you try to say it, I'm going to answer. Newt is in another hospital room."

My eyes widen in panic.

"The doctors don't think he's eaten or drunken anything in days. He's pale, thin, looks sunken. He lost it when you almost died in there, started screaming bloody murder."

Minho's eyes are dull and haunted.

I remember hearing those screams from what felt like miles away. A deep set part of me was still slightly conscious during the whole thing. It was much later until I started dreaming.

Oh, god. My fault. All my fault. Everything. What is wrong with me?

"That arms is going to scar," says Minho, sounding dead. "When that breathing tube is out I want you to tell me why you did it," he deadpans. Then he turns around and leaves.

Even if I could talk I'd be speechless. I've never seen Minho like that. Ever.

Newt is in another medical room.

Where is Teresa?

What is wrong with me?

All these thoughts are spinning around my head.

What have I done?

I never thought that my choice would hurt the others.

Anger, guilt and sadness are whirling around in my head.

I screw my eyes shut. Tears are leaking from the corners of my eyes.

The beeping sound has picked up.

If I hadn't been strapped down, I was sure I would have done something I would have regretted later, like trying to rip out all of the needles and cords that were keeping me alive.

Later I wonder if it's the strong negative emotions that bring on a memory that makes me want to go to sleep and never wake up.

…

They're both resting again.

Well, not really resting.

Newt got knocked out and, when I went back to check on him, Thomas looked like he had cried himself to sleep.

What scared me most was that he was twitching in his sleep. Ever so often he'd let out a soft moan. He kept repeating the same words. It was "No" something. But the tube made understanding him impossible. Tears kept leaking from his eyes and his face held so much pain that I had to take a minute to breathe and get a hold on myself.

I wasn't allowed to wake him, the doctors said. Sleep was a very important part of his recovery.

I reached over and squeezed the bag of drugs again. It seemed to help a little, his death grip on the sheets loosened a little and his breathing came a little easier, but he still looked awful.

I didn't know what was worse, Thomas's open pain, or Newt's silence. Both of them were killing me.

But it was my turn to be there for them. They needed me, it was my job to make sure they healed.

And I wasn't going to rest until they were ok again.

…

There is no peace in my silence. I just don't see any point talking. So far, my words have only succeeded in hurting the people I love, my closest friends.

The only thing I want to do is see Thomas. Minho does keep me updated though, and that helps.

He said that they were testing his lung strength, and if it held, they were going to take the tube out in about a day and replace it with a smaller, less evasive tube that would go around his nose, pushing oxygen in but allowing him to talk.

Blood transfusions were nearly over and his heart rate had been good. He wasn't strapped down any more, a shrink came in and said he was depressed, but not suicidal.

Minho said this enthusiastically, as if he was trying to make up for the lack of emotion in the room. I was glad Tommy was getting better but I couldn't stop thinking about he had got there. Isn't it funny how things can be ok one second, then in a heartbeat become life or death?

After he gave me all the information he knew about Thomas, he told me how I was doing. I didn't care, I didn't ask, but he told me anyway, said my tube was coming out in a few hours. I was glad, the first and last time I had actually seen a doctor, she told me that I needed to stay still and not move the tube. If I didn't, she said they were going to strap me down and knock me out again.

I believed them, and it scared me enough not to do it. I still didn't trust WICKED, and didn't really want to do anything they said, but I didn't really have much of a choice. My hands were tied. Literally.

Then a psych came in and asked me a whole bunch of questions.

Minho stood up from his chair in the corner of the room and leaned against the opposite wall, his arms folded, staring me down. I shrunk against his gaze, and pursed my lips.

She asked me who I was, what I remembered about WICKED, if I felt safe here. I kept my answers short on the notepad I wrote on.

Newt. That they're not good news. No.

She sighed after she read it and cut to the chase.

"I saw what happened in the maze, in the scorch, and-"but she got cut off when my heart sped up. A lot.

Minho pushed himself off the wall, his gaze flickered between me, the heart monitor, and the psych. He looked wary.

I was white, clutching onto the sheets with wide eyes.

"Newt, what-"starts Minho, but the psych cuts him off with a not-so-subtle gesture to the still beeping heart monitor. Then she speaks herself.

"So you haven't talked about it then," she says, raising her eyebrows. "Well, I suggest you tell him soon. Both of you. If you don't, there will forever be a wall in your friendship,' she advises. "Calm down though, alright? We won't talk it about it now, but if you work yourself up anymore we'll have to knock you out again. You need to keep your heart calm," she enthuses

I lean back on the pillow, and stare at the ceiling, concentrating on the breaths that were being pushed into my lungs, the humming of the machine. I memorize every crack and crevice. Eventually the beeping stops and I hear a sigh from the corner of the room.

The lady pokes me but I don't respond. She says something, but I'm blocking her out. Eventually I hear her shoo Minho out. Then she leaves herself, shutting the door.

I lay there, covered in wires, nothing covering me but a loose pair of sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt. I focus on not remembering as I stare at the cracked ceiling, wishing I could blow the hair from my eyes.

…

"Thomas!"

Huh?

"Thomas!"

Minho?

"Hey! Are you ok? Thomas!"

I unglue my eyelids and blearily peer up at him. My throat feels sore.

He sighs in relief.

"Oh thank god." He looks completely exhausted.

"You were screaming again. Are you ok?"

I shake my head and a tear slides down my cheek.

His face softens, and he leans over and hugs me, carful of the tubes.

"Oh Thomas….." He doesn't finish. There's nothing left to say. He buries his face in my chest.

I close my eyes gratefully and concentrate on his body heat and comfort, letting it sooth me.

…

I'm starting to wish I could close my eyes and never wake up. Preferably, it would be dreamless though, because I've just had another nightmare. Not like this whole situation isn't a nightmare in itself.

Tears were already running down my face before I woke up.

I was relieved to see that it was just a dream.

Minho comes over to the bed and wipes the tears off my cheeks. He wore a pained expression.

"Newt, I," He swallows. "I'm sorry, I just can't" He takes a shaky breath "I can't bare to see you like this, I-" he stutters, cutting himself off and quickly turning and hurrying out the door.

I don't blame him. I used to be strong, friendly, helpful, second-in-command. Now look at me. Weak, unstable, on life support, and a liability.

I lay on the bed and ponder if my problems have just cost me a friend.

…

I wake up slowly, eyelids heavier than they've been for a while.

There's a hand in mine. It's slender and soft, and I immediately realize who it is.

I force my eyes open a crack.

"Hey," she smiles crookedly. She looks the same as always, maybe better. Her long black hair is framing her pale face. Her features are soft, her bright blue eyes warm.

"Teresa," I rasp. My voice has been rough ever since they took out the breathing tube. I still have the nubbins though.

"So you still remember me," she smiles again. Then frowns. "Do you not want me here? I can leave. I don't know if we're ok…."

I grip onto her hand.

"N-no. S-stay."

She looks at me for a second, her lips pursed, trying to see if I really mean it. When she sees I am sincere, she leans over and gives me a huge hug, burying her face in my chest.

"I'm sorry Tom, I'm sorry about everything. I didn't want to do it. I was forced to, we both were. And I don't regret saving you. Anyway, it's not like I could have lived with myself, seeing the hurt in your eyes… it killed me Tom. I only ever cared about you."

When she lifts her head her face is wet.

"Was this my fault? You know, the…. attempted suicide?" She whispers the last part, obviously uncomfortably with saying it out loud.

I shake my head as quickly and firmly as I can.

She sighs with so much relief that I wouldn't be surprised if a ton of bricks had been lifted off her shoulders.

I feel sickened. Are people really asking themselves if my mental breakdown was there fault? Surly not….

"I'm sorry I didn't come earlier. I wanted to, but I didn't think you'd want me, and I didn't want the stress to make you sicker. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you." She starts again, interrupting my dire thoughts.

"You're h-here now. T-that's what matters. I-I forgive you."

"Oh Tom…" she's speechless. She starts crying again, but this time it's in relief.

My lids are getting heavier again. I'm exhausted. I let them flutter closed. I'm on the brink of falling asleep when I realize there is something I need to tell her.

"I-I love you."

Then they close completely.


End file.
